


How Kurt Hummel Got Married: Coda, The First Date

by aubreyli



Series: How Kurt Hummel Got Married verse [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubreyli/pseuds/aubreyli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "How Kurt Hummel Got Married, Fell in Love, and Met his Dream Man (in that order)".  This is Kurt and Blaine's first date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Kurt Hummel Got Married: Coda, The First Date

Kurt’s taxi drops him off at home shortly after eleven o’clock, and he nearly gives Carole and Finn heart attacks when he just barges in the front door. After nearly getting the stuffing hugged out of him (Finn was _this_ close to an actual noogie before Kurt deathglared him into proper behaviour), Kurt tells them what happened with Blaine earlier (the PG-version, of course) and what’s going to happen with Blaine tonight. It takes him a while to convince Finn and Carole that yes, he’s dating Blaine because he (really, really) wants to; no, it would _not_ be necessary (or appropriate) to send Blaine a thank-you fruit basket; and _NO,_ Finn _CANNOT_ sit on the front porch and wait for Blaine with a shotgun in his hands, because “that’s what your dad would have done.”

“My dad didn’t even _own_ a shotgun, Finn!” Kurt protests.

When Carole and Finn finally let him go, he immediately runs upstairs and calls Mercedes, who calls Rachel and Tina, who call Quinn, who calls Santana and Brittany, and within half an hour, he has six girls sprawled out on the various surfaces of his room, listening intently to his story and critiquing his clothing choice.

“Wait, his dick is _how_ big?” Santana asks, leering wolfishly. She’s practically smacking her lips.

Tina turns to her with a confused frown. “I thought you’re a lesbian now.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t still appreciate a nice penis,” Santana replies, shrugging.

“Is that why you scream so much when I use the strap-on?” Brittany wonders.

“Ooookay, let’s get back to me, shall we?” Kurt says, after a long moment of awkward silence. “So, pants: classy, slim-legged pinstripes, or ass-enhancing hip-huggers?”

“The second one,” the girls say in perfect unison, without even looking at each other.

It takes him five outfit changes before he lands on one that everyone approves of (including himself). Once the girls leave, he starts packing his overnight bag, obsessively re-reading Blaine’s texts when his insecurities flare up and he feels himself start to panic that Blaine’s changed his mind, or his parents have already forced him to re-marry, or he slipped in the shower and got amnesia and forgot Kurt completely, and it happens over and over until he gets a text from Blaine that says:

_To KURT (4:53 PM): Are we still on for tonight?_

Suddenly, it’s like Kurt can breathe properly again. He texts back, _Of course! See you at 7_ , and smiles.

At exactly three minutes before seven, Kurt sees Blaine’s sleek blue Mercedes pull into his driveway. He knows that Blaine actually got here over twenty minutes ago and that, up until now, he’s been circling Kurt’s house, again and again. He’d be tempted to tease Blaine about it, if not for the fact that he’d then have to admit that he only knows Blaine was there because _he’s_ been watching and waiting by his window since a quarter after six (Finn had tried to make fun of him, until Carole came by and swatted him away, before beaming at Kurt and wishing him a lovely evening).

He does manage to retain enough dignity to not just yank the door open before Blaine even rings the doorbell, forcing himself to wait five whole, agonizing seconds before he opens the door and says, with an air of easy confidence that he certainly doesn’t feel:

“Hi.”

Blaine’s standing on the porch, holding a small bouquet of carnations in various shades of red, from a dark pink to a deep, almost auburn color. He’s dressed in a light grey jacket over a burgundy cardigan and dark jeans, his hair neatly gelled again. He somehow looks even more beautiful than he did when Kurt saw him this morning, and when he smiles, Kurt has to suppress an actual gasp. 

Blaine’s smile quickly fades, though, as he takes a good look at Kurt, his eyes travelling slowly and deliberately down Kurt’s body before he blinks and pulls his gaze back up to Kurt’s face. “Hi,” he says back, sounding a bit breathless.

“Are those for me?” Kurt asks, pointing at the flowers and trying not to smirk or preen too obviously at Blaine’s obvious appreciation for the way Kurt looks in his (admittedly _awesome_ ) outfit.

Blaine blinks again, dazed, before he seems to snap out of it. “Oh, yes, um, here,” he stammers and thrusts the flowers out toward Kurt, as color blooms across his cheeks.

“Thank you,” Kurt says primly, and takes the bouquet from Blaine’s hands. He invites Blaine in, and waits until he goes into the kitchen to let his smirk grow into a giddy, full-fledged grin. He gets a vase from the cupboard and puts the carnations in some water, holding them close to his face and inhaling their light sweetness. 

When Kurt returns to the living room, Blaine is talking to Carole, their voices hushed and serious. Carole’s back is to him, and he can’t hear what she says to Blaine, but he can see the solemn, earnest look on Blaine’s face as he answers, softly, “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Hummel. I _promise._ ”

Kurt clears his throat, and feels something inside him warm at the way Blaine’s serious expression melts into a smile when he notices Kurt standing there.

“Ready to go?” Kurt asks as he gets his jacket.

“Yes,” Blaine says. 

They both wish Carole a good night, and head toward Blaine’s car, walking almost closely enough to touch.

“You look incredible, by the way,” Blaine murmurs softly, sounding almost shy as he opens the passenger side door for Kurt.

“Thank you,” Kurt replies, feeling a little shy himself. “So do you.”

+++

Dinner is wonderful, and Kurt can’t remember ever having a more enjoyable meal. But if someone were to ask Kurt tomorrow what they ate, what their waiter’s name was, or even if he liked the decor, Kurt wouldn’t be able to remember a thing. 

What he does remember is this: making Blaine laugh, and watching the way his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunches up; the way Blaine talks with his hands, gesticulating wildly as their conversations hop from topic to topic without even a second of awkward silence; the intent look on Blaine’s face when he’s listening to what Kurt’s saying, like Kurt is the most important and interesting person in the world to him. They tell each other stories about their lives, Kurt eagerly soaking up every drop of new information that falls from Blaine’s lips: his favorite movies, musical artists, and places to visit; stories about his sister’s first word, his grandfather’s watch that he never leaves home without, and his snobby cat. He holds Kurt’s hands as Kurt, slowly and painfully, talks about his junior year of high school, and Kurt discovers that they have more in common than he’d thought when Blaine, in turn, tells him about his last day at his old school, and his first day at Dalton.

It feels like an eternity and no time at all when the meal finally winds down and the cheque comes.

“No, don’t even, I’ve got it,” Blaine says, dragging the cheque closer to himself and pulling out his wallet. “I suggested this place, so it’s only fair that I pay.”

“I was the one who asked you out,” Kurt returns, and drags the cheque in his direction.

A brief but fierce tug-of-war ensues, until Blaine grins charmingly and suggests, “We could rock-paper-scissors for it,” which makes Kurt laugh and loosen his grip.

Blaine crows in childish triumph as he claims victory, and Kurt kicks him pointedly under the table.

After dinner, they go back to Blaine’s apartment. It’s lovely: sleek and modern, with expensive-looking furnishes and all the amenities, but still with enough homey touches to make it seem lived-in. He really does have a massive flat-screen TV, but even that is dwarfed by a floor-to-ceiling set of shelves that are crammed full of books and DVDs, all impeccably organized.

Kurt looks in the section containing musicals, browses along until he gets to “M,” and laughs when he actually does find two copies of Moulin Rouge, one on DVD and one on Blu-Ray.

“What, did you think I was lying?” Blaine asks, pretending to look huffy and offended. “I am _proud_ of my girl-crush on Nicole Kidman, thank you very much!”

Blaine’s apartment has a guest bedroom, but Kurt doesn’t give that room any more than the most perfunctory perusal; they both know he’s not going to be sleeping there tonight. Then they move on to the master, which is enormous, with wall-to-wall windows and a bed that’s almost as big as the one they had in their hotel room.

And that’s when it really hits Kurt, as he’s looking at Blaine’s bed, what they’re doing – what they’re _going_ to do, and given what they’ve already done together, there’s no reason why his throat should feel suddenly dry, and his stomach should be fluttering with nervous anticipation like this. 

“Hey, you know we can just watch a movie tonight,” Blaine says gently, taking Kurt’s hands. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Kurt shakes his head. “No, Blaine, that’s not it,” he confesses. “It’s... it’s kind of the opposite, actually.” He sneaks a glance through his eyelashes at Blaine, catches the way Blaine’s eyes go wide, and then they both have to look away hastily because Kurt’s not sure about Blaine, but he’s pretty damned close to forgetting the movie altogether and just tackling Blaine onto the bed.

Kurt looks around the room instead, to distract himself, and his gaze lands on the two his-and-hers closets along one wall. Remembering an earlier conversation they had – and the accompanying heat that coils deep in his belly – Kurt walks up to the one closer to him, and runs his fingers lightly across the painted wood. “Is this...”

Blaine follows him, eyes dark and hot. “Yeah,” he says, in a low and gravelly voice that sends a jolt of want down Kurt’s spine.

Kurt swallows hard, remembers lingering soreness and bone-deep pleasure and a whispered promise, _I’d let you do it to me._ But even as he can feel himself getting hard, there’s a thread of uncertainty, because fantasy and reality are two very different things, and Kurt’s not sure he’s ready to cross the line from one to the other. He looks questioningly at Blaine, and he thinks he can see a trace of uncertainty in Blaine’s expression as well. 

“Maybe for our third date?” Kurt asks, and is glad when Blaine’s answering smile contains more relief than disappointment.

“Sure,” Blaine agrees, and guides Kurt toward the second closet instead.

This one is a walk-in that contains Blaine’s clothes, and maybe he’s not completely style-hopeless after all, if his wardrobe is any indication. It’s a mixture of fifties-era chic (which would go well with his preferred hairstyle), and something that Kurt once heard referred to as “sexy young grandpa,” and he’s never been able to think of that look by any other name. 

Something blue and red catches Kurt’s eye. He reaches for it, and pulls out a navy blazer with red piping and a red crest on the breast pocket. A matching blue and red tie and grey trousers also drape from the hanger. The jacket looks familiar, and Kurt suddenly remembers the all-boy _a cappella_ group that had sung at their wedding. 

Kurt checks the label. “Ew, poly-blend,” he says, wrinkling his nose in mock distaste.

Blaine chuckles. “Yes, well, Dalton’s headmasters aren’t exactly known for being fashion-forward.” He runs his hand down one of the sleeves.

“Will you try it on?” Kurt asks. “I want to see how it looks on you.”

Blaine obligingly takes off his cardigan as Kurt removes the jacket and tie from the hanger and hands them to him. Blaine loops the tie around his neck and shrugs the blazer on over his white button-down shirt in a single, fluid movement that speaks of long practice. His hands are quick and deft as they form a neat half-Windsor knot, and a few small adjustments later, Blaine is done.

Kurt looks him over slowly. The jacket really isn’t a good fit on him: the sleeves are a little too short, and the cut – especially unbuttoned, like this – makes his torso look kind of boxy. But there is something strangely compelling about Blaine in the uniform, something that makes a little voice whisper in Kurt’s mind, _This is what Blaine wore in high school. This is what Blaine would have looked like if you’d known him then, if you’d met him that day at Sectionals two years ago._ Private school uniforms have never done much for Kurt, but suddenly, all he can picture is his sixteen year-old self reeling a sixteen year-old Blaine in by the tie, or the two of them playing footsie while pretending to study in the library, or Blaine pulling him backstage at Sectionals and kissing him senseless behind the curtain.

“Kurt?” Blaine asks hesitantly, looking concerned. “Are you all right?”

He sucks in a quick breath of air, feeling his skin grow hot. “Yeah,” he says, his voice cracking a little. “Um, your um, your tie is crooked.” He takes a step forward, and gently tugs Blaine’s tie straight.

Blaine flinches, and Kurt jerks his hand back. “Sorry, did I—”

“No, no – it’s okay,” Blaine stammers. He ducks his head, but it does little nothing to hide the way his cheeks are flushing a bright red. He rubs his neck, and Kurt can see the edge of an oddly-shaped shadow just beneath the collar of his white button-down shirt.

He reaches out. “May I?” he asks softly, and Blaine swallows hard, once, before he nods. Kurt carefully loosens Blaine’s tie, undoes the top buttons of Blaine’s shirt, and parts the collar. “ _Oh,_ ” he whispers.

It’s a lot redder than Kurt had thought it would be, considering how much time has passed. Clearly, he was more... vigorous than he’d intended. “Does it hurt?” he murmurs.

Blaine’s red to the tip of his ears now, and his breathing is quick and shallow. “No,” Blaine says. He glances up at Kurt, just for a moment, and Kurt’s breath hitches when he sees how _dark_ Blaine’s eyes are. “It feels – it feels good.”

Kurt nods, and presses his thumb right over the center of the mark, where the color is deepest. Blaine jerks again, and lets out a soft, high sound that sends a hot wave of want straight down Kurt’s spine. Feeling his heart pounding, Kurt slides a finger under Blaine’s chin and tilts his head up to expose more of his pale neck. He leans in, hesitates for just a moment when he’s no more than an inch away, and then goes the rest of the way and seals his mouth over Blaine’s warm, kiss-stained throat. 

_God,_ Blaine’s _skin,_ the way it yields to the pressure of his lips and tastes faintly of sweat and soap, the way he can feel Blaine’s racing pulse beneath his tongue – Kurt moans and sucks harder, making Blaine cry out and desperately hold on to Kurt’s waist for support.

Kurt shivers and breaks away from Blaine’s neck to whisper in his ear, “Lower.” He places his fingers directly over Blaine’s, like they’re piano keys, and guides them down to his hips, pulling back a bit to so that he can look at Blaine. He holds Blaine’s gaze and watches as his expression shifts from mild confusion to wide-eyed realization, and his lips part in a sharp, audible gasp.

“Did I hurt you?” Blaine asks, and Kurt is touched by how worried he looks even as he’s flushed and panting.

He shakes his head, smiling reassuringly. “No, I liked it.” 

“Oh,” Blaine whispers. He glances down at his hands and re-positions them so that he’s gripping Kurt’s hips more securely, and asks, “May I?”

“You may,” Kurt replies, trying for coy but pretty sure that it just comes out breathless, and then he’s biting his lip to hold in what would probably be a pathetically needy whimper when Blaine presses down hard on his hips. Blaine digs his fingers in even harder, and Kurt can’t help himself: he arches wantonly up into Blaine’s hands, keening softly.

He shouldn’t still be as sensitive there now as he was this morning, but these are _Blaine’s_ hands, not his own, and Kurt can almost feel the blood from his head draining south. He’s aching in his skin-tight pants now, and if not for the fact that he’s pretty sure Blaine’s been staring at his ass _all_ evening, he’d almost wish he’d worn something looser tonight. 

He rests his cheek on Blaine’s shoulder and pants against his neck, dizzyingly aroused and sweltering in his layers of clothes. He hears Blaine groan softly beside his ear and turn his head to press their foreheads together. He’s not sure who makes the first move, him or Blaine, but suddenly, they’re kissing, hard and desperate. Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck and pulls him in until he can feel the heat of Blaine’s body on his, and he opens his mouth into the kiss, wordlessly begging for more. Blaine obliges, and the hot, slick slide of his tongue as it invades Kurt’s mouth nearly makes Kurt’s knees give out.

He doesn’t even realize that Blaine’s been walking him backwards until he makes contact with something smooth and hard. A quick feel behind him reveals that he’s up against a mirror, and he sags against it as Blaine traps Kurt between his body and the glass. Blaine’s erection bumps his own, and Kurt gasps, bucking instinctively up towards Blaine. 

Blaine groans against his lips in response, and he rolls his hips forward in a long, slow grind against Kurt’s body that makes Kurt whimper brokenly and spread his thighs to get Blaine even closer to him. Blaine slides one of his legs between Kurt’s and rocks their bodies together, again and again, until they’re both too breathless to keep kissing are forced to separate for air.

“W-what movie,” Kurt stutters hoarsely, his forehead pressed against Blaine’s shoulder, “what movie did you pick?”

It takes Blaine a few seconds to respond. “ _Singing in the Rain,_ ” he says, chest heaving against Kurt’s. “I thought I should go with a classic.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, and lifts his head. Blaine’s face is flushed, his hair is mussed, his lips are red and swollen, and he looks so much like a debauched schoolboy in his rumpled uniform that Kurt almost feels like a pervert for finding that so hot. “Have you already seen it?”

“Yeah,” Blaine replies. “I can pretty much quote the whole thing from memory, actually.”

“Me too,” Kurt admits. Blaine’s eyes keep flicking down to Kurt’s mouth, and Kurt licks his lips slowly and deliberately, just to watch Blaine’s eyes go dark and intense with heat. “So what do you say we skip the movie and go straight to bed instead?”

Blaine’s head snaps up, and Kurt enjoys the medley of expressions – surprise, lust, confusion, and delight – that flits across Blaine’s face, until Blaine’s lips curve, and he says, with practiced innocence, “But Kurt, it’s only –” he checks his watch, “nine-fifty, and I can never fall asleep before eleven.”

“Hmm,” Kurt murmurs, pretending to look pensive. “I’m sure we can think of _something_ to do to pass the time.”

“Really?” Blaine asks. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well,” Kurt says, and leans in until his lips are brushing the curve of Blaine’s ear. “You could always strip me naked, put me on my hands and knees on your bed, and fuck my brains out.” He pulls back, and smirks when Blaine stiffens against him, going so still that he’s pretty sure Blaine’s not even breathing right now. “It’s just a suggestion,” he adds, with a casual shrug.

“Oh,” Blaine croaks out, then clears his throat and tries again. “Interesting proposition,” he says, sounding admirably calm in spite of the obvious tension in his body. “May I present a counteroffer?”

“Go ahead,” Kurt says magnanimously.

Blaine gives him a slow, wicked grin that sends electricity sparking along his nerves. “How do you feel about shower sex?”

Kurt’s smirk fades, his mouth suddenly going dry as he remembers the way he had jerked off in the bathroom of their hotel room, rough and urgent and desperately pretending that the two fingers in his ass were Blaine’s. “I’m a fan,” he says shakily. “Wet skin, easy clean-up... you’re not using shampoo to lube me up, though; that stuff stings.”

“No arguments there,” Blaine agrees, with a low chuckle. “Although I was hoping that we’d do it the other way around.” He smiles hopefully up at Kurt. “I’ve kind of been thinking about it for a while.”

Kurt stares at him, momentarily paralyzed by a flood of images from his morning-after fantasy about muffling his moans against Blaine’s neck while he uses his height advantage to pound Blaine into the shower wall. It’s not until Blaine’s smile falters, and he adds, hastily, “Um, unless you don’t want to? You totally don’t have to—” that Kurt gets knocked out of his daze.

“No, no! Of course I want to – I really, really want to,” he says frantically. Blaine actually looks _relieved,_ which breaks Kurt’s brain a little, and he grabs Blaine’s lapels (God, that _jacket_ ) and hauls him in for a deep, hard kiss, hoping that his lips and tongue will be enough to convey how much Kurt wants this, wants _him_ , and how utterly ridiculous it is for Blaine to even _think_ that Kurt wouldn’t.

Blaine returns the kiss eagerly, cupping his hands around Kurt’s face and opening his mouth to let their tongues rub slowly against each other. Kurt slips his hands under Blaine’s jacket and slides them down Blaine’s chest, feeling the warmth and definition of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. Blaine hums in approval when Kurt reaches his hips, and rocks himself against Kurt, rising onto his toes to encourage Kurt to keep going. Kurt takes the hint and dips his hands lower, until he’s gripping Blaine’s ass. He squeezes hard, and Blaine’s answering groan is almost a growl as his mouth practically _devours_ Kurt’s, plundering deep and forcing Kurt’s head hard against the mirror.

_Holy shit._ Blaine’s always so gentle with him, so considerate, that he forgets that Blaine can be like _this_ too, and Kurt moans raggedly when Blaine releases his face and reaches down to grab his ass, pulling Kurt in close enough for him to feel the long, hard line of Blaine’s erection through his pants. 

He could come like this, Kurt thinks dazedly, with Blaine’s hot cock rubbing his balls and Blaine’s hot tongue fucking his mouth, and he’s just about to say ‘screw it’ to his whole shower fantasy and just wrap his legs around Blaine’s waist and _ride_ him when Blaine suddenly stiffens and pushes himself away.

“Wh-what?” Kurt gasps. His whole body shivers at the abrupt loss of heat and weight, and his knees buckle because he hasn’t realized until now that Blaine’s actually been holding him up.

Blaine catches him by the elbows before Kurt can slide down too far. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding as ragged as Kurt feels. “I was about to come, and I really, really want you to fuck me first.”

Kurt whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut as he trembles with barely suppressed need. “I don’t think I can make it to the bathroom,” he confesses, only half joking.

He hears Blaine laugh shakily, and feels a soft kiss on his cheek. “Yeah, I’m kind of wobbly myself. But I’ll hold you up if you hold me up, okay?”

“Okay,” Kurt says, and turns his head so that their lips can meet. They kiss briefly, almost chastely. Then Blaine slide an arm around his waist and pulls him away from the mirror, Kurt opening his eyes as Blaine guides them back into his bedroom.

The walk from Blaine’s closet to his bathroom is probably no more than twenty feet, but it’s still easily one of most torturously long treks Kurt has ever had to make. They can’t quite synchronize their steps, Kurt’s legs being just a bit longer than Blaine’s so their thighs and hips keeping bumping and sliding against each other. Each burst of contact jolts on Kurt’s nerves, making him hyperaware of every place that their bodies touch. Every step that Kurt takes presses the front of his jeans against his erection, generating just enough friction for him to have to grit his teeth and clench his fists to keep from reaching down and just rubbing himself off. 

He makes himself concentrate on the wall, on the pattern of his socks, on anything other than Blaine’s heat and the ache between his legs, and it’s only when he notices the carpet beneath his feet turn to marbled tile that he realizes they’ve made it into the bathroom. He looks up, just in time to see the dark, almost wild look in Blaine’s eyes before Kurt’s being spun around and pushed backwards. His ass hits the closed lid of the toilet hard, and he barely has time to catch his breath before Blaine’s on him again, his hands spreading Kurt’s thighs so that he can kneel on the lid between them as his mouth fucking _ravages_ Kurt’s.

Kurt doesn’t even bother trying to kiss back; he just opens his mouth and lets Blaine _take,_ too winded to even moan properly. He fists his shaky hands in Blaine’s lapels and arches his back, until their upper bodies are plastered together and he can feel Blaine’s chest heave against his.

Blaine groans and kisses Kurt even harder, making him lean back and slide a bit on the slippery lid until his erection is pressed against Blaine’s knee, and suddenly, it’s too much, he’s spiralling too fast, and he shoves himself upright and pushes Blaine off him hard. 

“Wh – what, Kurt, I’m so sorry, what did I – did I do something wrong? I’m so sorry,” Blaine babbles breathlessly as he frantically backs away from Kurt.

“No, Blaine, no,” Kurt protests, one hand shooting out and managing to grab onto Blaine’s tie to keep him from moving too far away. “It’s fine, it’s _more_ than fine – I was just too close, that’s all.” He reels Blaine back towards him, reaching up with his other hand to cup the back of Blaine’s neck. “Sorry, I don’t think I’m going to last long when we... you know.”

Blaine gives him one of those soft, affectionate smiles that Kurt is quickly growing to love, and glances down at the obvious bulge in Kurt’s pants. “Then let’s take care of this, first,” he says, and goes down onto his knees.

Kurt’s pretty sure the sound that comes out of his mouth when Blaine starts to undo his pants is beyond the range of human hearing. “W-wait, I thought you wanted me to fuck you,” he protests, even as his libido – which has taken over approximately 99% of his entire brain – screams at him to shut the hell up and let Blaine give him orgasms.

“That’s fine,” Blaine says, looking up at him through his eyelashes in a way that can only be described as _sultry,_ “I’ll get you hard again.”

_Jesus,_ the way he says it, like it’s a promise, like he’s utterly confident in his ability to make Kurt hard as many times as he wants – it’s almost enough to ruin Kurt right there. “Okay – yeah, okay,” he mutters, and reaches down to help Blaine with his pants.

Blaine catches Kurt’s hands in his own and pushes them gently away. “No, let me do it, please? I didn’t get to, the first time.”

Kurt bites down on a whimper, and swallows hard before he nods and spreads out his arms, curling his left hand around the edge of the sink, and his right around the rim of the bathtub. He looks back down at Blaine, whose lips curve up into a soft, grateful smile as he returns to Kurt’s pants.

“I know I keep saying this,” Blaine murmurs, as he slowly lowers the zipper, “but you really are incredibly beautiful.” He tugs at Kurt’s waistband, Kurt lifting his hips wordlessly to help Blaine get the pants past his hips. “I know you don’t believe me,” Blaine adds, when he’s managed to peel off enough to expose Kurt’s thighs, egg-shell white against his black briefs. “But that’s fine.” He lowers his head and presses a kiss to the crease between hip and leg, first on one side, then the other. “I’ll just have to keep saying it, until you do.”

Kurt shuts his eyes tightly, his hands trembling. It’s not the first time Blaine has said that to him – it’s not even the first time that _night_ that Blaine has said it, but it still fills him with a sort of wild, dizzy worry that maybe this isn’t really happening. It shouldn’t affect him so much, that Blaine thinks he’s beautiful, that Blaine wants him; he shouldn’t still crave this kind of validation (at least, not anymore), but he does, and it does, and Kurt doesn’t know _why._

He pushes the thought aside though, to focus on more important things, like Blaine tossing his pants onto the floor before he goes to work on Kurt’s underwear, carefully easing it over Kurt’s erection. Kurt spreads his knees as soon as Blaine slides his briefs off his ankles, moaning softly when his cock is finally released.

“ _Such_ a pretty cock,” Blaine says in a low, thick voice, as his thumbs rub slow circles on Kurt’s inner thighs. He’s still staring at Kurt, but all the earlier reverence is gone, replaced by an almost feral look of hunger. He licks his lips slowly, like even the anticipation is worth savoring, and then he’s leaning in, eyes dark and half-shut as he buries his face against the base of Kurt’s cock. He nuzzles it for a bit, like a cat, breathing in Kurt’s scent and holding it for a moment, before he exhales in a hot rush of breath that makes Kurt’s legs shake.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, pleading, trying to buck up, but Blaine’s grip on his thighs keeps his hips pinned relentlessly down. 

_Fuck,_ the way Blaine looks right now, on his knees between Kurt’s shamelessly spread legs, his face and neck burning red and his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. He parts his lips and slides them – no licking, just sliding – along the length of Kurt’s cock, the slight dryness of his lips generating just enough friction for there to be a drag as he moves up and down the smooth column of flesh. His mouth travels over the head of Kurt’s cock and comes away with a smear of precome, and Blaine pauses to lick it away.

“I love the way you taste,” Blaine whispers breathily, trembling a little as his shallow, uneven breathing – like he’s getting off on this, like he’s barely keeping himself together – hits Kurt’s erection like little bursts of electricity on his skin.

“Blaine,” Kurt says again, his voice cracking across the vowel, “ _Please,_ ” and gasps in relief when Blaine lets go of Kurt’s hips and finally, finally takes Kurt into his mouth. “Oh _dear God._ ”

Blaine sucks him expertly, relaxing his jaw and swallowing around him, again and again, before raising his head back up, tonguing every sensitive spot (Blaine remembers; of _course_ Blaine would remember) along the way. He looks so blissed out, like he’s on the sweetest high imaginable, eyes shut and cheeks hollowed around Kurt’s cock, and it takes every single ounce of strength Kurt has to keep still and not just thrust up into the hot, wet heat of Blaine’s perfect mouth. Kurt tries, he tries so hard, clenching his hands so tightly that he’s almost clawing at the slick, white porcelain. But then Blaine starts massaging his balls in time with the suction, and Kurt’s hips jerk up like they’ve been yanked by an invisible string, driving his cock fast and hard into Blaine’s mouth.

Blaine makes a low sound deep in his throat, and immediately pulls his mouth away. “Do that again,” he says huskily, before Kurt can even piece together an apology. “Fuck my mouth.”

“What?” Kurt asks, dazed.

“Fuck my mouth,” Blaine says again, with a sort of hushed urgency that makes it sound like he’s almost begging. “Please? I like it, I promise.”

Kurt swallows convulsively, throat dry from all the panting he’s been doing. “Um,” he starts, and winces at how rough his voice sounds. “I uh, I don’t really know—”

Blaine shakes his head, smiling reassuringly. “Just do what feels good,” he says, and wraps one hand around the base of Kurt’s cock, eyes dark with the same heavy-lidded hunger he had when he first got Kurt’s underwear off. “Don’t worry, I can take it.”

“Okay,” Kurt says, feeling a little lightheaded at how _eager_ Blaine sounds. He brings one hand up to curl around the back of Blaine’s neck and guides his head down as Kurt slowly tilts his hips up, until the head hits the back of Blaine’s throat and Blaine’s eyelids are fluttering shut and he’s humming appreciatively around his mouthful of cock. 

“You can do it harder,” Blaine says breathlessly when he pulls back again. This time, when Kurt thrusts in, hard, Blaine shudders and lets out a low, long moan that vibrates deliciously around Kurt’s cock, and then he’s relaxing his jaw so that he can take Kurt even _deeper._

“Oh _fuck!_ ” Kurt almost sobs as Blaine slides down another inch, until his lips are almost touching his fist. He slams the hand that’s not fisted in Blaine’s hair behind his back, using it to keep himself balanced as he uses his legs to push his hips forward, again and again. He wonders faintly if he’s being too rough; he’s probably already bruising Blaine’s lips, but Blaine just moans louder and sucks harder, mouth moving hot and dirty over Kurt’s cock like he needs it to breathe, and Kurt honestly has no freaking clue how he hasn’t already come yet because he feels like he’s been teetering on the edge for _hours._

“Blaine, Blaine, oh _God,_ ” Kurt babbles, too desperate to be embarrassed about how needy he sounds. He sees Blaine shift a little, and looks down and sees that Blaine’s got his cock out and he’s _jerking himself off,_ and that’s it. “ _Blaine!_ ” he yells in warning as he feels every muscle in his body start to tense like a bow being drawn back. He has just enough self-control left to yank Blaine’s mouth off him before he seizes up and he’s _gone,_ shouting hoarsely as his cock jerks and spills come all over Blaine’s fist and – oh shit – his face.

“Oh shit, ‘m so sorry,” Kurt says hurriedly, because he didn’t mean to – he’d be pissed as hell if someone came on _his_ face without so much as a by-your-leave, but Blaine’s shouting too, his body crumpling forward as he convulses and comes on the floor between his knees.

Blaine tips his head toward Kurt and rests it on his thigh, trembling and panting against Kurt’s skin. Kurt slides a still-trembling finger across Blaine’s face to wipe away his semen, only to have Blaine turn his head and catch the finger in his mouth. Kurt watches, breathless, as Blaine swirls his tongue around it until it’s licked clean, before letting it slip out with an audible _pop_.

“Oh,” Kurt says, very quietly, feeling a fresh wave of heat rise in the back of his neck as he stares at the slight sheen of saliva on his rapidly cooling fingertip, before he snaps himself out of his daze because Blaine’s taken his come-stained hand off Kurt’s dick and is starting to lick his own fingers. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Kurt says in a rush, blushing furiously because – geez, rude much? He quickly grabs a fistful of toilet paper and shoves it at Blaine. “Here, sorry – you don’t need to, uh, sorry.”

Blaine looks up, pausing mid-lick, at the wad of toilet paper, and then at Kurt’s red face. He furrows his brow for a moment, before his expression clears and he starts to chuckle. “It’s okay,” he says, and Kurt barely manages to suppress a shudder, because Blaine’s voice is _hoarse,_ from Kurt _throat-fucking_ him, and Kurt doesn’t resist at all when Blaine reaches up with his other hand to gently guide Kurt’s outstretched arm back down against his lap. “I told you, I like the taste, remember?”

“Really?” Kurt asks dubiously. He does remember Blaine saying something that, but he’s always kind of assumed that’s just something you say when you’re giving someone a blowjob.

“You didn’t seem to mind it either when you were sucking me off this morning,” Blaine points out, as he tucks himself back into his pants.

“Yes,” Kurt concedes, “but that was because it was _you._ ” Blaine raises an eyebrow and starts to grin, and Kurt amends, hurriedly, “I mean, I just think you might taste better.”

“Hmm,” Blaine nods. He looks at Kurt thoughtfully for a moment, then – without breaking eye contact – brings his hand back up to his lips and continues to clean, licking and sucking, thoroughly and leisurely, at his knuckles, fingers, and palm. 

Kurt stares, helplessly enthralled and probably gaping unattractively, as Blaine finally finishes, swallowing deliberately and smacking his lips afterward like a satisfied cat. 

Then Blaine braces both hands on Kurt’s thighs and pushes himself up off his knees until he’s on his feet and hovering over Kurt. “Maybe a different context will change your mind,” he says, and leans in.

Kurt gasps sharply as their lips meet, and Blaine uses that opportunity to slide his tongue into Kurt’s open mouth and rub it against Kurt’s own tongue. It takes Kurt an embarrassingly long time to stop swooning long enough to realize that Blaine’s letting him taste himself (and really, he’s going to have to stop doing that every time Blaine Frenches him; it’s getting embarrassing), and no, Blaine hasn’t managed to magically transform semen into something that tastes great, but he has to admit that the combination of his come and Blaine’s mouth is... deeply and unexpectedly thrilling. 

“Well?” Blaine asks when he pulls back. “What do you think?”

Kurt licks his lips slowly, as his dick makes a valiant attempt at pretending that he didn’t just come his brains out five minutes ago and that he can totally get hard again, really. “I think that if you still want me to fuck you, we should get on that right now.”

Blaine laughs, still sounding a little rough. “No arguments there.” He presses a quick kiss to Kurt’s jaw, then pulls Kurt up onto his feet and immediately starts to work on tugging off Kurt’s cardigan.

“Now who’s being impatient?” Kurt teases, holding onto Blaine’s shoulders to keep balance while he toes off his socks and untangles his legs from the twisted knot of his pants and briefs. He starts undoing his bow tie, then changes his mind and reaches for Blaine’s jacket instead.

Blaine grins, widely and without shame, and shrugs his shoulders to help Kurt remove his blazer. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking about this for a while.” He finishes what Kurt started in undoing his bow tie, and slides the thin ribbon of fabric off his neck with a soft swish.

“And how long would that be, exactly?” Kurt asks, as he pulls off Blaine’s tie and tosses it over his shoulder, before attacking Blaine’s shirt. 

“Honestly?” Blaine says, his smile turning a little sheepish. “Since I found out that you’re taller than me.” He glances over at the shower stall, Kurt following instinctively, and when their gazes meet again, Kurt can see something hot and anticipatory darken in Blaine’s eyes.

Kurt looks away, trying to keep his breathing even. “That long, huh?” he asks, as his suddenly numb fingers fumble over the last few buttons on Blaine’s shirt. 

Blaine catches Kurt’s hands in his, and holds them apart so that he can slide Kurt’s unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, leaving Kurt completely naked and more than half-hard under the weight of Blaine’s scrutiny. “It was kind of all I could think about when I had you in my mouth,” he confesses quietly.

Kurt swallows hard, feeling his knees shake as hot lust pools low in his belly and flares out toward his limbs. He twists his hands loose from Blaine’s grasp and fists them in Blaine’s shirt. It’s a nice shirt: crisp and white, 100% cotton, but the material is cheap and thin. Probably from a department store. “Do you like this?”

“What, the shirt? Not especially, why?”

“Good,” Kurt says, and – before he can change his mind or lose his nerve – tears the rest of Blaine’s shirt open, sending buttons _pinging_ to the floor. He ignores Blaine’s startled squawk as he pulls off each sleeve, then drops into a crouch, grabs Blaine’s jeans at the thigh, and yanks until they’re in a puddle around Blaine’s ankles. “Get them off.”

Blaine obeys, stepping out of his pants, underwear, and socks. “Kurt?” he asks, when Kurt stands back up. 

“Get into the shower,” he orders, trying not to gape too obviously at Blaine’s naked everything. His face is burning, and his brain keeps freaking out that he just ripped a guy’s clothes off on the first date, Kurt Hummel, what is **wrong** with you? “Turn on the water and wait for me. I’ve got condoms and lube in my bag.”

Blaine’s mouth twitches, and he visibly bites back a grin before he says, “Actually, that won’t be necessary.” He enters the shower stall, reaches into the caddy, and pulls out a condom and a half-empty tube of lubricant. “I already have everything we need here.”

Kurt stares at the items in Blaine’s hand, feeling a hint of nervousness trickle coldly down his spine as the reality of it – that’s he’s going to fuck a man for the first time – finally sinks in. Suddenly, it feels a bit like last night all over again, with him suspended between _Oh my God, I’m really going to do this_ and _Shit, what if it’s terrible?_ He clears his throat, and follows Blaine into the shower stall. “That’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it?”

“Says the guy who just ripped my shirt off?” Blaine returns, smiling back at him as he switches on the water. “Not that I minded, of course – feel free to forcibly remove my clothing anytime you want.”

Kurt blushes again, and backs away as Blaine turns to adjust the temperature. He takes this opportunity to admire Blaine’s deliciously wet body, his eyes following the rivulets of water as they travel down his back, over the curve of his perfect ass, and along his legs to the floor by his feet. “You know that I’ve never done this before, right?” he asks hesitantly. “I kind of don’t know what I’m doing.”

Blaine laughs as he turns back toward Kurt, a laugh that quickly fades when he sees the genuine concern on Kurt’s face. “Kurt, if you really don’t want to do this—”

Kurt sighs. “Why do you keep thinking that I’m going to chicken out? I’ve wanted to fuck you since I woke up this morning, okay? Believe me, I want this. I just don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t,” Blaine promises, bringing Kurt under the spray with him and pulling him into a deep, lingering kiss. Blaine’s skin is already starting to heat up from the water, and feels gloriously slippery under Kurt’s hands. “But if you want, I can prep myself,” he says, when the kiss finally ends.

Kurt almost considers this for a moment, his breath catching at the sudden image that flares up in his mind of Blaine opening himself up for Kurt’s cock – but then he remembers how amazing it felt to have Blaine’s fingers in him last night. “No,” he decides, and plucks the condom and lube from Blaine’s open palm. “Just tell me if I’m doing something wrong.”

Blaine’s face lights up in a bright, delighted smile. “Of course.”

“Good.” Kurt breathes deeply, and takes one last look at Blaine’s warm, trusting expression, before he says, “Turn around and bend over.”

Blaine complies and braces his hands on the wall. He spreads his legs and arches his back a little, letting the water from the shower hit the base of his spine and trickle down between his ass cheeks. 

Kurt squeezes out a sizeable dollop of lube, then puts the tube and the condom wrapper on the floor beside him. He slathers the lube over his fingers, and follows the trail of water until he finds Blaine’s opening. He presses his index finger gently on the rim, and hears Blaine let out a soft sound and rock back a little against the slight pressure. He does it again, lightly rubbing the pads of his fingers back and forth across the puckered flesh, until he feels Blaine start to fidget. 

“ _Kurt,_ ” Blaine whines, “just put it in already.”

“Okay,” Kurt murmurs, and slides in. It’s easier than expected to push past the first ring of muscle; the combination of lube and water helping to keep them both slick. Inside, Blaine is unbelievably hot, hot and tight in a way that makes Kurt shiver and his cock twitch. He moves his finger slowly, first straight thrusting in and out, and then twisting it in small rotations to open him up. “Alright so far?” he asks, after a few minutes.

“More than alright,” Blaine says in a high, breathy voice. “Another, please?”

Kurt reaches around with his other hand to cup Blaine between the legs, eyes widening when he finds that Blaine is already completely hard, just from a single finger in his ass. “You’re really getting off on this, aren’t you?” he remarks, adding a second finger.

Blaine laughs, a little unsteadily, and turns his head to grin back at Kurt. “Kurt, it’s very sweet that you haven’t made any assumptions based on the fact that I have an entire _closet_ full of sex toys, but yes, I do occasionally like to take it up the ass.”

Kurt scowls playfully at him, and crooks his fingers down, fast and without warning. “You keep up that sass, Mister,” he warns, as Blaine shudders and gasps, “and those toys are all you’ll get tonight.”

“As long – _oh_ ,” Blaine jerks when Kurt crooks his fingers again, “– as long as you’re holding on to the other end, I think I’d be okay with thaa – oh _God._ ” He moans when Kurt does it _again,_ harder this time.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kurt says. He keeps finger-fucking Blaine and stroking his cock, fascinated by all the different sounds that he manages to elicit from Blaine: soft, shuddering moans when Kurt rubs his prostate, and sharp, gasping cries when Kurt rams his fingers in hard. And the way Blaine keeps rocking his hips back and forth, like he can’t decide whether he wants Kurt’s fingers deeper or if he wants to thrust into Kurt’s fist – it makes Kurt’s skin feel hot, like he’s almost expecting the water to steam when it hits him.

It doesn’t take long before both of his fingers are moving smoothly in and out of Blaine’s ass, and he’s pulling them out to add a third finger when Blaine says, “Don’t.”

Kurt stops. “What? Did I do something wrong?”

Blaine shakes his head, sliding his hands down the wall a little and spreading his legs wider. “Just... do it now. Fuck me.” His voice sounds even rawer now than it did when he’d just finished letting Kurt fuck his throat, and the flash of lust that shoots through Kurt’s body nearly makes him dizzy.

“It’s only been two fingers,” he protests, even as he’s taking his other hand off Blaine’s cock to pick up the condom and lube from the floor of the shower stall.

“That’s enough, trust me,” Blaine says, all in a rush. “I’m ready.”

Kurt pulls his fingers out of Blaine, biting back a groan at the way Blaine’s ass clenches and tightens, like it’s not willing to let them go. “Are you sure?” he asks, as he rolls the condom over his cock and lubes it up.

Blaine lets out a low, frustrated growl. “I think I know the readiness of my own ass, Kurt. Just fuck me – _oh!_ ” He gasps quietly when Kurt lines up the head of his cock against Blaine’s hole. “Oh. Yes. Come on, Kurt.”

“Are you always this bossy when you bottom?” Kurt asks, and slowly pushes in. 

He thinks Blaine might have said something in response, but all of Kurt’s brain cells are swamped with the sensation of Blaine’s incredible _tightness_ around him. Dear _God,_ he’d thought Blaine was tight earlier, when he had his fingers in him, but it’s nothing compared to _this,_ the mind-blowing squeeze and the slight slackening when Blaine relaxes around him to let Kurt take him deeper, and Kurt presses his forehead onto Blaine’s shoulder, needing something to ground him, to keep him from embarrassing himself by going to pieces before he’s even fully inside Blaine.

“Are you okay?” he hears Blaine whisper beside his ear.

Kurt huffs a soft, shaky laugh. “Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that?”

He can feel Blaine’s mouth curve as he grins. “I’m fine,” he says. “I’d be even more fine if you’d move, though.”

Kurt laughs again, and kisses Blaine’s bare, wet shoulder before pulling himself back and gripping Blaine by the hips. “Like this?” he asks. He pulls out halfway, and then pulls Blaine toward him as he thrusts forward until their bodies meet again in a wet _slap._

“Yes, just – harder,” Blaine says with a soft groan. “Fuck me harder, please.”

“Yeah, okay,” Kurt says breathlessly, and thrusts harder this time, crying out when Blaine moans and rolls his hips back to match Kurt’s movements. He tries to remember how he’d angled his fingers when he was massaging Blaine’s prostate, and adjusts his next thrust to aim for that spot.

“Oh _fuck!_ ” Blaine shouts, his whole body tensing and shaking under Kurt’s palms. “Right there, Kurt – do that again.” He drops one hand down to jerk himself off, moaning a litany of “fuck, fuck, fuck” in time with Kurt’s thrusts.

_God,_ it’s _criminal_ how hot Blaine is when he swears, and Kurt really hopes that Blaine _only_ swears during sex, because Kurt’s pretty sure that he has developed a Pavlovian reaction to want to come every time Blaine says “fuck,” and that could have some seriously embarrassing consequences. 

“Blaine,” Kurt manages to gasp out, and – because he needs to – wraps an arm around Blaine’s waist to haul him upright, until his back is plastered to Kurt’s chest and Kurt can tilt Blaine’s head and kiss him. Now they’re both standing directly under the water, which cascades over both their faces as they kiss and mingles with the taste of each other’s lips and tongues. He lowers the arm around Blaine’s waist down to his hips, and holds Blaine steady as he starts to move again. He’s got just enough height on Blaine that he forces Blaine onto the balls of his feet on every thrust, and the way Blaine whimpers and works himself faster nearly makes Kurt’s legs give out.

Kurt’s close, dangerously close; he would probably have come already if Blaine didn’t suck him off first, but he wants Blaine to come first, wants – needs – the validation that he’d made it good for him. He snakes a hand down to join Blaine’s hand around his cock, fitting his fist on top of Blaine’s on the shaft so that they can both jerk him off, fast and hard, too desperate to worry about technique.

“Kurt, _God,_ ” Blaine moans, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, and it doesn’t take more than a dozen strokes and a few hard thrusts before Blaine’s moaning turns to high, desperate keening as he convulses around Kurt’s cock and comes all over both their fists.

“Oh shit, _Blaine,_ ” Kurt gasps, and gets in a few more thrusts before he’s coming too, his body bowing over Blaine’s as he empties into the condom deep inside Blaine’s body.

They manage to stay on their feet for a few moments, swaying slightly.

“Kurt?” Blaine murmurs, sounding dazed.

“Yes?”

“You’re going to have to pull out, because I think I’m about to fall over.”

It takes a few seconds for the message to sink in, and then Kurt says, “Okay.” He pulls out slowly, and they both drop to their knees and lean against the shower wall, one of Kurt’s arms still cradling Blaine against his chest. Kurt brings up his other hand to his mouth, and sucks the fluid, slowly and languidly, off his fingers. “You definitely taste better,” he says, when he’s finished.

Blaine’s answering chuckle is more a slight vibration in his body than an actual sound. “We can agree to disagree about that.”

“Hmmm,” Kurt responds, noncommittally, too satiated to argue.

Blaine shifts in Kurt’s arms, until he’s sitting facing him. “So, is it just me or was this the best first date ever?” he asks, and there is just enough cockiness in his grin to reawaken the snark centers of Kurt’s orgasm-addled brain.

Kurt shrugs. “Well, top five, anyway,” he allows, smirking a little at Blaine’s offended gasp. “Maybe top three if you wash my hair.”

Blaine laughs, a bright and merry sound that Kurt is already beginning to love. “I’ll see your hair-washing and raise you breakfast in bed: blueberry pancakes, sunny-side eggs, and _bacon._ ”

Damn. Even Kurt’s snark is helpless against bacon. He sighs. “Fine, best first date ever.”


End file.
